Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

“It was.”

He released a heavy sigh and slumped into a nearby chair. “Caroline told me just now that she cannot recall leaving the house, nor anything about her journey until the moment the thief accosted her. I had hoped you might be able to provide some insight. As it is, I’m not even sure how long she was gone. She must have departed after I fell asleep, for I didn’t hear her. What time did you find her?”

Elizabeth sat down across from him. “Shortly after midnight. Perhaps quarter past.”

“I don’t know what time I fell asleep. Half-past ten?” He glanced from Elizabeth to Darcy and back. “You are wondering, but too polite to ask, if I know whether Caroline was yet awake when I nodded off.” He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I know for certain that she fell asleep before me. I then retired in my own chamber. Forgive me if I speak too openly about delicate matters, Mrs. Darcy. I seek only to comprehend what happened to my wife this evening, not to embarrass you.”

“I understand.” Far from suffering embarrassment, she was grateful to have her curiosity satisfied on this point. She, too, wanted to solve the puzzle of Caroline’s actions, and Parrish was right — she never would have voiced such a question. They now knew that Caroline had not deliberately remained awake to leave after her husband retired.

Darcy, however, appeared discomposed by Parrish’s candor. He stiffened, and a slight flush of displeasure crept into his cheek. Elizabeth sensed what he was thinking: A gentleman did not allude to certain subjects in front of a lady, and chief among them was whether he had spent the evening in conjugal activities. No doubt he was also contemplating the notorious vulgarity of Americans.

“You say she doesn’t recall leaving the house?” Darcy asked. She knew he was trying to steer the conversation back to more appropriate territory.

“Not a moment of it. Somehow she rose, dressed, walked out the door and traveled all the way to Bow Street without consciousness of having done so.” Parrish studied his wineglass, tracing the rim with his index finger. “This is probably a question better suited to her brother, but since he is not here and you are, I will ask it. Is Caroline in the habit of sleepwalking?”

“Sleepwalking?” Darcy blinked in surprise, then pondered a moment. “Not to my knowledge. I have been a guest in the Bingleys’ home many times, and they in mine. Never have I witnessed or heard of anything like this.”

“Back in Louisiana, there was a young woman — Marie Chevenier — who used to sleepwalk every time she visited her cousins on the plantation next to ours. Sometimes she’d wander so far that we’d find her sleeping on our porch early in the morning. They said she never did it at home, only her first few nights in a strange house. I thought perhaps this being Caroline’s first night here…” An expression of anguish, tempered by hope, flashed across his face.

Elizabeth felt herself moved by the unveiled, unintentional display of Parrish’s distress. What an inauspicious start to his marriage! — spending his wedding night talking to near strangers in a desperate attempt to interpret his new bride’s peculiar behavior. Sleepwalking may indeed have caused Caroline’s bizarre journey; it provided as good an explanation as she could devise. But even if it hadn’t, right now Parrish needed to believe it possible.

“I think perhaps you are correct,” she said. “Not only is she in an unfamiliar house, but I’m sure the strain of planning such a grand wedding in little over a week taxed her nerves. In a few days she will be fine, and in a month you won’t remember this incident, either.”

“Do you really believe so?”

“I do.” Then, sympathy overtaking self-interest, she added, “May we call tomorrow to enquire after her?” A glance at Darcy revealed his approval. The call would mean changing their travel plans yet again, but it was the proper thing to do. Mr. Parrish needed the support of friends at present, yet would not wish to disclose tonight’s events to others. Chance had made them confidantes in the matter; they had an obligation to carry through their involvement.

Parrish’s face brightened. “ May you? I would consider it the kindest attention. But don’t you leave for Pemberley tomorrow?”

“A day’s delay is of no consequence,” Darcy said. “Besides, we cannot be easy at home until we know Mrs. Parrish is all right.”

However true that might be, Elizabeth could not help but feel disappointment settle upon her heart even as she smiled reassuringly at poor Mr. Parrish. She was beginning to think she and Darcy would never reach Pemberley.

Elizabeth slept late the next morning, Caroline Parrish’s escapade having kept her awake much longer into the night than she generally retired. She awoke to find Darcy standing before the mirror, tying his cravat. He had already dispatched a servant to the Gardiners’ house with a note informing Georgiana of their delayed departure.

“What did you tell her?” She sipped her chocolate in bed, a post-nuptial addition to her morning routine that Mrs. Hale had introduced and to which she had readily become accustomed.

“That we found Mrs. Parrish wandering the streets in a scandalous manner last night, and remain in London to circulate gossip.”

She nearly dropped her cup before realizing he jested. As much as she delighted in their banter, it was usually she who initiated its more preposterous turns. “I trust you also included details of the duel you nearly fought with that ruffian, not to mention Mr. Parrish’s account of the couple’s sleeping arrangements?”

“In the postscript.” Having achieved a passable trone d’amour with the neckcloth, he abandoned the mirror and came to lean against the bedpost. “I thought Mr. Parrish’s intelligence in particular the very thing for a young lady to read before breakfast.”

She set aside the cup. “You blushed to hear Mr. Parrish speak of it.”

“A good many individuals who purport to be genteel talk too openly about affairs that should remain private.”

She sighed dramatically. “Then I suppose I should withdraw the notice I sent to the Times announcing the reason we arrived late for last night’s curtain.”

“No, let it run. I am sure the ton will be fascinated by how long it took you to dress your own hair.”

She gasped in mock outrage and tossed a pillow in his direction. “Take the blame for that upon yourself.” Her hair had been perfectly arranged when she gave Lucy the night off.

He caught the missile and returned her mischievous grin. “With pleasure.”

They arrived at the Parrish townhouse sometime later to find Caroline gone out and her husband struggling to suppress his irritation.

“Riding, of all things! When she ought to be resting after last night’s episode!” Mr. Parrish practically flew about the drawing room in agitation. “I left the house for only an hour — to consult the apothecary for a draught to help her sleep more peacefully tonight — and when I returned she’d accepted an invitation to go riding and already departed. Not in a carriage, mind you. On horseback!”

Despite his incensed tones, Elizabeth understood that deep concern for Caroline’s welfare fueled the exclamations.

“She’s a good horsewoman, but she was in such a state last night…,” Parrish continued more calmly. “Thankfully, she took my most docile mare.”